Beauty & The Beast
by likefoolsinlove
Summary: AU: In which Kurt Hummel finds his life intertwined with that of a Beast's in ways he never thought possible out of fairytales.
1. Prologue

_In the forests of Lima, there was a castle. It was named McKinley Castle after its first king, William McKinley the Third. Many generations passed, and soon the castle came into the ownership of another royal family by the name of Karofsky. King Paul and Queen Lisa ruled fairly, but their son, David - better known to his few counterparts as Prince Dave - was a spoiled, hot-tempered child with no love in his heart, his ribcage as hollow as the tin soldiers he played with._

_One stormy night, King Paul and Queen Lisa's carriage was led off a cliff. On the same night, a strange hooded old woman, her face twisted and bent from old age, visited Prince Dave. She introduced herself as Widow Holiday, and offered him a simple rose as a token in exchange for his hospitality from the raging storm. _

_Prince Dave fuelled both by anger from learning the loss of his parents and pure selfishness from deep within his empty chest ordered her to be banished from the grounds, never to return. In a flash, Widow Holiday revealed herself as the famed enchantress, Holly, and he fell to her feet begging for forgiveness. But the enchantress Holly had none of it - she cast a spell over him, the castle and its inhabitants that transformed them into unrecognizable forms, taking away Prince Dave's handsome appearance and revealing his inner self - a beast. The castle's staff was transformed into household objects, and the castle itself turned from a welcoming abode into a tortured contraption. _

_The enchantress Holly handed the beast - from then on only known as Karofsky - the rose, which was revealed to be enchanted itself. Its petals would fall, counting down time, waiting for Karofsky to find someone he could love who would love him in return, but if the last petal fell with no love in the beast's heart, the transformations would be permanent._

_And so, we begin our story in the village of Dalton, where a certain book-loving young man was about to change everything..._


	2. Chapter 1

The sun was shining, birds were singing, the air was fresh and clean and a light breeze was blowing. Everyone was starting their daily routine, setting up shop and greeting their fellow villagers with a bright, "Good morning!"

But not Kurt Hummel.

Kurt Hummel woke up at precisely half past seven, his crystal blue eyes taking in his brightly lit surroundings, the warm summer breeze drifting against his smooth, almost porcelain skin. He got up, made his bed, and went to check on his father - the town inventor, and a genius one at that. He saw that Papa was still asleep, laid a kiss on his forehead, and after cooking a hearty breakfast of an omelette and bacon, left a note that he was off to the village to procure groceries.

And so he went, taking with him his favourite satchel and slipping in some money, taking a book he'd borrowed from the local bookshop. The moment he walked outdoors, he opened the book, hoping to finish it again through his grocery-shopping round in time to return it to the bookshop owner, Mr. Schuester. He was used to walking around with his nose in a book, and he was certainly used to catching the strange looks villagers gave him through his peripheral vision; not only because he walked and read at the same time, and not only because he was one of the few properly and completely literate people in the village, and not only because he was probably one of the finest-looking villagers, but also because the way he dressed defied what the villagers defined as normal. For example, today he'd chosen a plaid shirt, green and orange and white, with studs on the shoulders, and he'd tucked it into a pair of simple black trousers.

His black boots treaded the cobblestone streets, his eyes devouring the words on the pages in front of him hungrily, and as he walked, he was interrupted by Ms. Beiste, the baker, greeting him with a loud, "Good morning, Kurt!"

He looked up for a second, nodding and smiling. "Morning, Ms. Beiste," he said, hesitating before placing his bookmark in the pages he'd been reading, but not closing the book. "And how is business doing?"

"It's on the rise!" Ms. Beiste replied, grinning. "Ah, another book, I see."

Kurt nodded happily. "Yes! This one is about a young boy, and a beanstalk, and a giant…"

"Azimio, do keep an eye on that dough," Ms. Beiste said, turning around and frowning at her apprentice. She turned back to Kurt, smiling. "Would you like a bun?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, thank you, Ms. Beiste, but I appreciate the offer," he replied, inclining his head and moving away. "Have a lovely day!" The moment he got out of the baker's sight, his nose was in his book again.

He went around, collecting groceries as he read – a fish during Chapter Two, some vegetables during Chapter Five, and flour during Chapter Eight. Soon enough, he'd finished shopping for groceries, bidding the stall-owners adieu, and he walked up to his last stop, the bookshop.

"Good morning, Mr. Schuester," Kurt said, entering the store and hearing the tinkle of a bell. The man sitting at the counter looked up, smiling.

"Kurt!" he said, standing up and walking up to Kurt to clap him on the back. "I've told you time and time again, call me Will. Or at least Mr. Schue."

Kurt smiled shyly as the older man's eyes roved up and down his figure. "I'll stick with Mr. Schuester, thank you," he said politely, then he handed Mr. Schuester the book. "Here you go."

"Finished already?" Mr. Schuester said in surprise, taking the book from him. "How impressive!"

"I couldn't put it down," Kurt confessed. "It was fantastic! The adventure was practically bleeding from the pages." His eyes lit up. "Any new books in stock today?"

Mr. Schuester laughed. "Not since yesterday," he said, grinning, the hand on Kurt's back pushing him toward the bookshelves. "But feel free to borrow any other book you wish."

Kurt looked at all the assorted books, tilting his head to the side to read the many titles. "Oh, this one is my favourite, I'll borrow this," he said, retrieving _Jane Eyre_.

"But you've already read it twice!" Mr. Schuester said, smiling. "How about some Hans Christian Anderson? _The Little Mermaid_ is lovely."

"It's also terribly depressing," Kurt pointed out. "She dies in the end, her love rejected by a suitor she was never meant to truly be with. But this…" He gestured to the book. "I think Mr. Rochester is probably one of my favourite characters in literature. He's so… _tortured_. It's intriguing." He smiled, stroking the binding of the book lovingly. Mr. Schuester nodded.

"Well, if you like it so much, you can have it," he said.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly…" Kurt protested, but Mr. Schuester was pushing him out of the shop.

"No buts! It's yours."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Schuester!" Kurt exclaimed, smiling widely at the older man as he exited the bookstore. "Goodbye!"

He opened the book, ready to plunge into the adventures that lay in store for Jane Eyre, when he bumped into –

"Morning, Kurt!"

Kurt smiled politely. "Hello, Blaine," he said softly, beginning to walk. The shorter man fell into step next to him.

"How has your day been so far? Wonderful, I'm sure," Blaine replied.

"Yes, it has been rather productive," Kurt replied, nodding.

"Hah, lovely!" Blaine said, "But more so now that I'm here, huh?" Blaine winked, nudging Kurt unnecessarily hard and knocking his book into a puddle of mud. Kurt's eyes widened, and he reached down to retrieve the book, cleaning it off with a rag he had in his satchel. Blaine hadn't even realized, but he'd stopped when Kurt had, watching him clean the book. "Why do you always have your nose in a book?" he asked. "I mean I'm genuinely interested. Most of the villagers here are more interested in, oh, I don't know, living lives outside of paper and glue…" He chuckled at his own teasing.

Kurt looked up at Blaine, starting to walk again. "I just like reading," he said simply, shrugging and placing the book in his bag reluctantly, but realizing that yes, he did have to keep talking to Blaine. They continued their idle chatter for a while, and as they passed the Lima Bean coffee shop, three waiters stopped for a second to admire the pair… or more specifically, Blaine himself.

"You know, we all know Kurt is gay, and Blaine is gay," Wes pointed out, frowning. "And honestly if I wasn't straight, I'd be all up on that. I haveta admit, Blaine is a good-looking fellow. So why isn't Kurt falling for him already?"

"I really don't get it," Nick said, sighing. "I mean… Blaine is like, the perfect specimen of like, everything. He can sing and dance and memorize people's coffee orders… like, what _can't_ he do?"

"Woo Kurt, apparently," Thad pointed out with a wry smile. "Haven't you heard he's been trying to get Kurt to fall in love with him for ages? And I've heard he's planning to ask Kurt out officially soon. Let's hope that Kurt sees sense and just admits to his attraction for Blaine already… how could you _not_ love the guy?"

The three men sighed in unison.

"Get back to work!"

They looked at each other, grinned sheepishly at their boss, and scurried off to do their jobs.

Meanwhile, Kurt and Blaine had walked up to Kurt's doorstep. "So… here we are," Kurt said. "This is my stop." He stood there slightly awkwardly, waiting for Blaine to move away. When Blaine didn't move away, instead closing his eyes and leaning in, Kurt's eyes widened – again – and he blurted out in a rush, "Okay well I guess I'll see you around alright goodbye and have a fantastic day!" He then proceeded to open his front door and escape into his house, leaving Blaine to open his eyes and shake his head, frowning.

"I don't understand," he muttered, walking away from Kurt's house. "Why won't he like me?"

"BLAINE! HEY! BLAINE! HEY BLAINE! BLAINE, HEY!"

Blaine turned to see his friend, Jeff, running full-speed towards him, reaching him panting. "So? How'd it go? Did he kiss you? Did YOU kiss HIM?" Jeff began to make kissing noises. "Blaine and Ku-urt, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s…"

Blaine sighed, cutting Jeff off. "He rejected me. I went for it and he just like ran into his house." He sat on a rock. "I just don't understand. I'm good looking, and polite and stuff, so why doesn't he like me?" Jeff let out a little 'awh' sound, patting Blaine on the back as he listed all the reasons why Kurt Hummel should like him.

Said boy had entered his house with a bright smile as he saw his father awake and hard at work on his latest invention. "Good morning, Papa," he chirped, walking to the kitchen area to sort out the groceries. "Did you like breakfast?"

Burt Hummel slid out from underneath his strange contraption. "Breakfast? Oh, oh yeah, it was great. Thank you, Kurt." He adjusted what he called his 'inventing glasses' – glasses that magnified instead of simply adjusting sharpness of sight – and slid back underneath his invention. "I did love that bacon," he murmured. After a bit of tweaking, he slid back out. "Kurt? A wrench, please?"

Kurt looked up from his sorting, putting his satchel down and walking to Burt's toolbox sitting on the dining table, retrieving a wrench and throwing it in the air, watching it spin for a second before catching it as it fell, then handing it to Burt, who grunted in thanks as he got back to work. Kurt pulled out a chair from the dining table, sitting on it and watching his father work.

"Not to disturb you, Papa, but what on Earth are you working on?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. There was a loud 'BANG!' as Burt forgot he was underneath his invention and hit his head on the underside of it, sliding out and wincing. Kurt quickly got up to get some ice. "Here, just sit for a second," he said, helping his father up to sit on the chair he'd been occupying and handing him the ice pack. Burt nodded, pressing it to the quickly forming bruise on his forehead.

"Thanks, kiddo," he said gruffly, wincing at the combined sensations of the cold ice and the swelling bruise. "You were asking me something, right?"

"Oh, yes," Kurt said, pulling up another chair. "What are you working on? I know it's for that inventor's fair in Carmel, but what exactly does your invention do?"

Burt chuckled, putting the ice down for a second to press a finger to the bruise gently as a form of diagnosis. He winced, but decided it would heal quickly. "It, uh, it's an automated woodchopper," he said. "It moves by itself, and it runs on vegetable oil, so you don't need to waste normal oil… I thought it'd be useful."

His son smiled widely. "Papa, that's brilliant," he said, standing up and leaning over to give his father a hug, which the older man returned happily. "I'm confident you'll win the fair with this. It's a great idea!"

"You think, kiddo?" Burt asked, releasing his son from the embrace. "I mean, you read all those books, right? You ever read about something like this?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, I haven't. And I have faith in you, Papa," he replied, nodding as he sat back down. "Now, you put that ice back on that bruise, and I'll make some coffee. Sound good?"

Burt smiled. "Thank you, Kurt. That… that would be great."

After his short coffee break, Burt got back to work, determined to finish his woodchopper, and after a few hours with small breaks in between, he finally slid out, covered in grease and black marks, getting up to collapse onto a chair. "Should be finished," he said, nodding. Kurt looked up from where he was cooking dinner and smiled as he scraped the fish from the pan onto two plates.

"Papa, that looks amazing," he admitted, bringing over the plates with cutlery and setting them on the table. "Mama would be…" His face fell at the memory of his late mother, and Burt looked up at him, wiping the grease from his face and hands with a napkin.

"She'd be proud," Kurt finished softly, smiling sadly at Burt. Burt nodded, standing up to retrieve some lemonade and pouring it into two cups, handing one to Kurt as he sat back down.

"To Elizabeth."

They nudged their glasses together, drinking the lemonade. Burt spoke again as the Hummels tucked into their dinner. "I'll be off to Carmel in the morning," he said, "Since my invention is finished and all."

"Oh?" Kurt replied, neatly slicing a bit of fish, popping it in his mouth. He chewed, and then swallowed. "You'll be taking Lord Tubbington, I suppose?" He chuckled.

Burt grinned. "Yes, I'll be taking Tubbington," he said, referring to their horse. "I can still remember you, Kurt. You were… six years old, I suppose, when we got Tubbington. And his previous owner had called him 'Lord', but you just… you just refused point-blank to refer to him as anything but 'Lord Tubbington'."

Kurt laughed. "At the age of six, I thought that was a perfectly appropriate name for a horse," he said simply, shrugging. "It wasn't my fault the name stuck. You have to admit, 'Lord Tubbington' is a far superior name than just 'Lord'." He smiled, cutting another piece of fish.

Burt chuckled. "Sure is, kiddo. Sure is."


	3. Chapter 2

The next morning, Kurt helped his father onto the saddle he'd attached to Lord Tubbington, checking the bridle and handing the reins to Burt. "Have a safe journey, Papa," he said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his father on the cheek.

"Now you don't go getting yourself in trouble," Burt said with a wry smile. "Maybe go out once in a while, though; don't coop yourself up at home reading, because I know you will. Maybe go on a date with that Blaine fellow…"

"Papa!" Kurt exclaimed, blushing. "I am not _interested_ in Blaine, thank you. He's a perfectly lovely person, but he's… just…" He trailed off, flustered.

Burt chuckled, ruffling Kurt's hair. Kurt yelped, his hands moving to rearrange his hair. "Yeah, I get it, kiddo," he said. "I'll send you a message once I get to Carmel. Don't worry your pretty little head, okay? I'll be back tomorrow morning." Kurt nodded.

As Burt, Lord Tubbington, and the automated woodchopper faded into the distance, Kurt waved. "Goodbye, Papa!" he said as he waved, then just as they disappeared over the horizon, he shrieked as someone's arms encircled his waist from behind. He could tell by the blue jacket sleeves that it was Blaine and he wriggled out of Blaine's grip.

"Blaine!" he said, panting from his efforts to free himself. "What… what a surprise!"

"And good morning to you, too," Blaine said, grinning. "Anyway, Kurt… I have a proposition for you. Mind if we head inside for a second?" Kurt opened his mouth to reply, but Blaine turned away, already striding towards the door of the Hummel residence. Kurt sighed, following him inside and closing the door behind him.

The moment the door closed, Jeff popped out from a bush he'd been hiding in. "Fellas!" he said. "Come quick!"

A group of people came from around the corner where they'd been waiting, carrying music stands, sheet music, and various assorted string instruments, and began playing a sweet, romantic tune after they'd set up. Jeff stood in front of them, conducting them for a second before rushing off to check on the flowers Blaine had ordered, which arrived just in time in a beautifully arranged bouquet.

When all was accounted for, Jeff stood at the end of the steps leading up to the front door, ready and waiting for Blaine and Kurt to come back out. "Keep playing, I'm sure they'll be out soon."

Meanwhile, inside the house, Blaine had pulled up a chair, turning it around and sitting on it, leaning his arms on the chair-back. "So, Kurt," he said, as he watched the taller boy fold his arms and look at him curiously, "My proposition." He cleared his throat, standing up and taking one of Kurt's hands, kneeling. "Kurt Hummel… will you go on a date with me?" he asked, flashing his trademark grin that usually had people swooning at his feet.

Kurt blinked, removing his hand from Blaine's grasp. "A date?" he repeated, frowning. "Blaine… Look, I'm just not interested in you like that, alright—? Wait, is that music outside, or…?" He peeked out the front window and gasped. Blaine had stood up, waiting for his reaction. "Blaine!" Kurt said, turning back. "Did you just… expect me to accept your proposal just like that?"

Blaine shrugged. "That _was_ the idea," he confessed. "I mean… no one can resist me. I'm totally awesome."

Kurt frowned even more. "Blaine, I think you should go," he said, pushing Blaine towards the front door, but Blaine ducked under his arm, pinning Kurt to the door.

"Aw, come on, Kurt," he said, grinning. "Now I _know_ playing hard-to-get is all the rage now or something, but I can sense your attraction to me, you know. I mean… most people love me. Just look at Nick and Thad and Wes, they're like my biggest fans. And they're awesome, but I don't want them. I want you."

Kurt pushed Blaine off him. "Blaine, I've already told you," he said, huffing and crossing his arms. "I'm _not_ interested. I'm sorry, and you're a great guy, but I just don't like you that way. Alright? And I have to say it was just a _little_ bit presumptuous for you to think I'd just accept your proposal. I mean, a _string quartet_? Really?" Kurt sighed. "Please just… leave?"

Blaine pouted. "But Kurt…"

"Blaine, out," Kurt said softly. "Look, I'm sorry, but you have to go." Kurt opened the door, gesturing for Blaine to leave the house.

Blaine sighed, and walked out of the house, adjusting his jacket nonchalantly. "Fine then," he said, nodding. "Alright. I… will see you later."

The door closed.

Jeff ran up the stairs, shoving the bouquet into Blaine's face. "He's getting ready, right? And you're waiting on the doorstep here because you're being a gentleman? And he likes you? Right? RIGHT?"

Blaine sighed, pushing the bouquet away from his face. "Jeff… not now. He rejected me. _Again._" He sat down on the steps.

"He… what?" Jeff replied, frowning. "But… that's not possible…"

"Blaine, I'll go on a date with you!" Nick said, appearing from around the corner, rushing up to the steps.

"Hey!" Thad said, running after Nick. "I thought we agreed that I'd be the one to date Blaine…"

"And what about me?" Wes interjected, on the other boys' heels.

"You're not even gay, Wes," Thad pointed out, rolling his eyes as he took the bouquet from Jeff, smelling it.

"_So_?"

As the three waiters bickered, Kurt peeked out his window momentarily to see Blaine still sitting forlornly on his front steps. He sighed, closing the curtains and escaping upstairs to re-read Jane Eyre. Although Blaine was a wonderful person, and charming and handsome, for some reason Kurt just didn't feel attracted to him – he was all _surface_. Kurt likened him to sand on a beach; he looked pretty, but was easily moved by the wind. He was sure Blaine would get over this flight of fancy soon enough.

He got upstairs, lighting the lamps in his room so he could see, and tucked himself into his warm, cosy bed, taking the book from his bedside table and opening it. It fell directly to the page where he'd left off, and as he started reading, he pondered. If Blaine was sand on a beach, Kurt supposed he was the ocean. Simple on the surface and yet… if you dived a little deeper, you'd really get to the heart of who he was. Perhaps that was why he didn't like Blaine – because Blaine only saw the surface of the ocean and never bothered to dive into its depths.

His clear blue eyes scanned the words on the page until they closed, sending Kurt Hummel into a sweet, dreaming sleep.

He never expected the nightmare the morning would bring.

As Kurt slept, Burt Hummel jolted as Lord Tubbington whinnied loudly, rearing. "Whoa, boy," he said, patting the horse's neck. "Calm down, we're almost there." He looked at the map he'd propped up against the horn of the saddle and frowned. "Could've sworn we were headed in the right direction," he murmured, scratching his head.

Through the shadowy trees, yellow eyes glinted, scanning the area and spotting _prey_.

Burt folded up the map, putting it back in the sack he'd brought with him. He gripped the reins and tugged at them, gesturing for Lord Tubbington to start moving, but just as the horse started to trot again—

Growls echoed off rotting bark and seemed to fill the empty night.

Suddenly, Burt realized that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Wolves crept out of the trees, their eyes fixated on their intended morsel. There were so _many_ – one to Burt's left, another behind him, yet another to his right – and he gasped, horrified, as they began to converge.

_He was trapped_.

And then they pounced, moving as a unit, leaping at Lord Tubbington's legs with their canines bared. The horse whinnied in fright, kicking his front legs up in defence, rearing up on his hind legs. "Tubbs, whoa!" Burt exclaimed, gripping the reins for dear life, terrified that he'd fall off to his death. One of the wolves dealt with a hoof to the chin and it howled in agony, retreating. The other wolves seemed to take this as a warning, and soon they were retreating back into the shadows where they came from.

It was over.

But Lord Tubbington had been spooked. In an act of blind fright, he galloped away, the automated woodchopper behind him rattling along. "Whoa, Tubbington, whoa," Burt commanded, trying to get the scared animal to stop, but the command came too late and as Lord Tubbington skidded to a halt, they came into a clearing where they saw the most amazing sight.

A once-magnificent castle, with turrets galore, the stones of the many towers now covered with moss stood before them, lit momentarily by a flash of lightning. As luck would have it, it had begun to rain. Soon, Burt was soaked to the bone, and he got off Lord Tubbington for just a second, holding his sack close to his person.

Big mistake.

The poor equine, still traumatized by the attack, galloped off as fast as he could, taking Burt's invention with him.

"Wait, no, stop!" Burt yelled after the horse, but it was too late. Lord Tubbington - and the machine he'd put his heart and soul into - was gone. Rain was pouring around him, on him, the rainwater soaking into his boots and dampening the name-patch on his shirt (a required accessory for the inventor's fair). He sighed, looking up at the castle. He knew he wouldn't be able to catch up to Lord Tubbington in time, and well, if he couldn't get a night's rest in this castle, at least he could ask for directions. He decided to give it a shot.

His boots squelched as he stepped towards the cast-iron gates, and as another flash of lightning illuminated the ominous-looking abode, he had half a mind to turn away and never look back. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and taking a deep breath, he pushed at the gates. To his surprise, they swung open just enough to let him in with a loud shriek that was accompanied by a clap of thunder. He shivered, the rain already seeping into his bones.

Burt walked across the ornately decorated stone courtyard, frozen gargoyles snarling at him everywhere he looked. Soon enough, he reached the castle doors themselves, looking up at the huge wooden structure. He nodded. "C'mon, Burt," he said softly to himself. His right hand rose up.

_Rap, rap, rap,_ went his knuckles on the door.

It swung open. Burt couldn't help but gasp at the sight that lay before him...

A grand foyer greeted him, and he saw pillars and staircases and a long red carpet decorated with gold trimming and all he could think was of how _grand_ the inside was compared to the outside. And yet even indoors, there was a sense of melancholia in the air.

"H-hello?" he said, coughing a little. He could feel the rain taking its toll on his body already. "Is... is anyone here?"

On a table a couple of feet away from Burt, a candlestick and a clock innocently sat. The candlestick had one main, large candle, and two arms that held smaller, rounder candles. Its stand was polished and shiny - in the darkness of the castle, it almost looked out of place. The clock was a simple but elegant one, and the markings on it were intricate apart from a simple gold star on its right side. The wood was also polished, as was the clock-face. The minute hand moved.

And then the candlestick spoke.

"Berry," it hissed. "C'mon, he's soaking."

The clock face came to life, eyes and a mouth opening on its surface.

"Noah!" it said, frowning, the joint where the minute and hour hand met moving upwards as if it had scrunched its face up. "Shush!"

"Who's there?" Burt said, hearing voices echo off the granite walls, whipping around to locate the source of the voices.

"Now you've done it," the clock snapped.

"We're over here," the candlestick - Noah - called to Burt, his three candles lighting up without help from a match.

Burt's eyes fell on the table, but never thought that the voices came from it. Instead, he spotted the candlestick and deduced that perhaps he'd see the speaker if his surroundings were better lit. He walked towards the table, grabbing Noah.

"Dude, could you like, stop manhandling me?" Noah said, having to smirk. "I mean. I'm hot, and all, but this is too much."

"Where are you?" Burt called, confused.

"Here."

And then Burt finally had the sense to look at the object his hand was holding. He gasped as the wax on the main candle _moved_ to reveal eyes and a mouth. "Yeah, finally," Noah said.

Burt dropped the candlestick in shock.

"_Ow_," Noah whined, his right candle moving to rub at the dent in his main candle. "That freakin' hurt."

"_Noah!_" the clock sighed, hopping off the table and towards the scene. "Why did you have to _do_ that? You _know_ the master forbids all this... all this nonsense!"

Burt gaped at the animate clock. His eyes flitted back and forth as the two objects bickered.

"It's not nonsense, _Berry_," Noah snapped. "The poor guy was caught in the rain and he's all pale and looks like he'll faint or something."

"But the master _forbids_ this! And it's _Rachel_, if you don't mind. Who taught you manners? A rat?"

"I'm only gonna call you Rachel if you stop calling me Noah. The name's _Puck_."

"Well, 'Puck' is a ridiculous name. You sound like a hockey puck. And you're not a hockey puck, you're a _candlestick_."

"And you're a clock, but you're called Rachel? That's even more inappropriate."

"_Shut it, Puckerman-!"_

Burt cleared his throat, interrupting the clock - Rachel - and watching at the two should-be-inanimate objects _turned to look at him._

If the inventors' fair could see this now.

"Uh, excuse me," he said. "But... I'm lost in the woods, and my horse abandoned me, and if it's alright with everyone I really need a place to stay, or directions back to the village of Dalton if you can provide it. Don't mean t' intrude, but I just sort of ended up here."

Puck grinned. "C'mon, Berry. The guy's soaked to the bone and dripping wet…"

Rachel frowned, interrupting. "That means the same thing, you know."

"Whatever. C'mon. He looks exhausted." Puck jumped, turning to face Burt. "This way." He began hopping off, his metal base clink-clink-clinking against the cold stone floor.

"The master is not going to like this," Rachel muttered. "Not one bit." But she waddled off after Puck and Burt.

They reached a small hall, the fireplace already lit, and there was a single high-backed armchair. "Your seat," Puck said, gesturing to the chair. Burt smiled for the first time since it had started raining.

"Thank you," he said, and he sat himself down in it. It was surprisingly comfortable, and he sighed happily.

"Noah, I still don't think this is a good idea," Rachel said huffily, managing to fold her 'arms'. "You _know_ the master isn't going to like it at all."

"Berry, come ON. You have GOT to stop being such a buzz-kill. Look at the guy! He's finally perking up." Puck grinned again. "Y' good?" he asked Burt. Burt nodded. "Hey, we should get some tea in you or something before you freeze to death. And like, a blanket or something." He looked at the chair meaningfully.

"Oh. Right. Sorry about that," the chair said.

Burt jumped. _Again._ There really was no end to the surprises in this castle. He turned around and to his surprise; he could see markings – like _spectacles_ – in the armchair's décor. "I'm terribly sorry if I'm, uh…" he said, trailing off in his shock. The chair laughed.

"It's alright. I'm used to it by now. I mean, even before I was a chair, I was in a _wheelchair_, so… yeah. Used to it." Somehow, the chair managed a toothy grin. "I'm Artie, by the way."

"Oh. Right. Forgot to introduce myself – Name's Puck," the candlestick said.

"And I'm Rachel," the clock said, "And I'm sorry, sir, but you need to get a move on and you can't stay here…"

She was interrupted as a catering tray zoomed into the room, its wheels spinning madly. It wheeled right past her, knocking her off her feet. "Watch where you're _going_!" she said, rubbing her head.

The tray wheeled up beside the chair, and on it was a teapot and a mug. The teapot smiled up at Burt.

"Hello," it said demurely. "I'm Emma, the housekeeper in this palace. Would you like some tea?"

Burt smiled. He was getting used to the talking objects faster than he thought he would.

"Yes, please," he said, as Emma hopped over, somehow defying gravity and tilting herself to pour steaming tea into the mug.

"Ow…" the mug said, frowning. "Ms. Pillsbury, could you like at least warn me next time?" He looked up at Burt, smiling bashfully. "Hi. I'm Finn."

Burt could see Rachel hopping up to stand next to the tray.

"Not that this isn't really hospitable of you, Ms. Pillsbury –" She looked at Finn, a shy smile gracing her number-marked features, "And Finn, but… you know the master won't approve! He's already hot-tempered enough as it is…"

"Aw, don't worry, Rachel," the mug – Finn – said as Burt lifted him to his lips and drank the tea. "We're just helping this guy out. I mean, we _are_ like, the service people in the castle. So we gotta service people, right?" He grinned as Burt put him back on the tray, wiping the rim with his thumb. "Hey, thanks. Most people aren't considerate enough to wipe," he continued, somehow managing to nod at Burt. "It drives Ms. Pillsbury crazy." He lowered his voice, as if that made his words any less clear to Emma, who was sitting right next to him. "She likes being _clean_," he whispered.

Burt caught the faintest hint of what could've been a genuine laugh from Rachel's direction.

Suddenly, they heard a loud BANG, and a gust of wind swept through the room, battling with the flames in the fireplace.

"I _told_ you so," Rachel hissed.

There was a soft thumping sound, then a click, then it kept getting louder and louder – thump-click-thump-click-thump-click-thump-click_-thump-click_ – and Burt twisted in the chair to face the door that had just been slammed open.

He couldn't help but gasp.

For there, in the doorway, was the silhouette of a Beast.


	4. Chapter 3

Kurt Hummel woke up, disoriented and groggy. He ran a hand through his hair, blinking slowly as he flexed the fingers on his other hand, feeling paper against his skin. He opened his eyes, looking at his hand, which was rested against the pages of Jane Eyre. He couldn't help but smile. He'd fallen asleep reading _again_… usually, Papa would tell him off for having stayed up so late in the first place to read, but Papa was in Carmel, so-

Then he frowned, taking Jane Eyre and placing it on his bedside table. His eyes scanned the calendar he'd made, marking the night before as the night Papa was meant to have reached Carmel and contacted him. He'd _promised_ to send a message back to Dalton… and Burt Hummel always kept his promises.

A chill ran down Kurt's spine, and in the back of his mind he realised something was horribly wrong.

His worst fears were confirmed when he heard a frightened neighing from outside, and he didn't even bother to change out of his dark blue pyjamas. He ran downstairs and out the door barefoot, seeing Lord Tubbington and his father's invention – but not his father. "C'mon, c'mon boy, it's okay," he said, comforting the obviously spooked horse.

Once he'd calmed Lord Tubbington down and detached Burt's invention, he let Lord Tubbington feed on hay in the stable as he went back upstairs to get changed. Something horrible must've happened to Burt, and hopefully Lord Tubbington would remember where he'd left him. Kurt wasn't just going to sit there while his father was missing; he just wasn't that type of person. So he put on his clothes, selecting a chandelier-print sweater, a black cardigan, red chequered pants, a black belt, and simple black shoes. Once he'd done that, he looked in his mirror, sighing as he fixed his hair. Biting his lip, he nodded.

Time to go rescue Burt Hummel.

Lord Tubbington wasn't the brightest equine, but he was bright enough – thankfully – to remember where he'd accidentally abandoned Burt, and as evening fell, Kurt found himself and Lord Tubbington standing outside the gates that now imprisoned his father. He took a deep breath. "Come on," he said to the horse. "We have to do this. We have to save Papa." He closed his eyes for a second, his fingers flexing delicately as he steeled himself. Then when he opened his eyes, he pressed his hands to the bars of the gate and pushed.

The gates swung open with a loud, painful-sounding _creeeeeeeeeak_ that set his bones on edge. For a moment, he lost his courage, but Papa was the only family he had left. "I can do this," he whispered to himself, and he walked into the courtyard, tugging Lord Tubbington along with him.

After leading Lord Tubbington to a little corner of the castle, he tied the horse's reins to a gargoyle. "I don't think you can go inside… I'll be right out." He patted the horse, then walked up to the doors and pushed again. _Whoever owns this castle should really take better care in their security,_ he thought.

He stepped into the hall, his eyes taking in his dark surroundings. "A red carpet? _Really?_" he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. "How tacky. Doesn't look like an interior designer's seen this place in about five thousand years…"

As he stepped further inside, the door slowly swung closed behind him with a loud, high-pitched _creeeeeeak_, just as the gate had, and he shivered as the dreadful sound raced down his spine. "Someone really needs to oil those joints or something…"

He walked towards the stairs, looking around for any sign of his father – or at least any sign of a human presence at all. "Hello?" he called, his angelic voice ringing through the halls. "Is… is anyone here?"

There was a clattering sound, and Kurt jumped, his hands moving to the edges of his sweater to pull it closer around him. "H-hello?" He looked around and then took another deep breath, coughing as he inhaled dust. "Papa?" He started walking up the stairs in front of him. "Papa…"

As he walked through the hallways, he took in his surroundings – stone gargoyles lurking in every corner, the walls tiled up with heavy granite blocks, red and dusty carpets lining every floor.

"Papa?" he called again as he walked past an open door, not even noticing a cupboard door creaking open.

As Kurt walked past the kitchen, Finn stirred awake, gasping when he saw through the crack of the open door a _girl_ – no… no, wait, that wasn't a girl, that was a _boy_ who just looked sort of… girly. He frowned… then a thought occurred to him. What if this was someone that Karofsky could possibly –

"Ms. Pillsbury!" he said excitedly, nudging open the cupboard door with his handle. "There's a _boy_ here. A boy that looks a lot like a girl - I thought he was a girl at first but I was _wrong_."

Ms. Pillsbury yawned, a gust of steam issuing from her spout. "Finn… it's too early in the morning for this…"

Finn thought hard for a second, then very decidedly said, "Ms. Pillsbury, you have a spot."

The teapot jumped. "Where? Where?" she said, turning around and attempting to look at her own surface.

"Okay, I lied, you don't have a spot but I needed to wake you up _somehow_," Finn said sheepishly. "There's a _boy_ here and I think maybe the master could possibly – there's something about this boy – maybe he could break the spell!"

At first, Emma had frowned, but as Finn continued speaking, her eyes lit up, then they faded again. "Oh, Finn… don't give me such false hope… you know I want the spell broken just as much as you do, but—"

Then a feather duster poked her handle around the corner of the cupboard. "You _GUYS!_" she exclaimed, grinning. "There's a BOY in the castle and he's really _pretty_ and you don't usually call boys pretty but he's _pretty._"

Another feather duster joined the first one, frowning, her dark eyes scanning the other feather duster's figure. "Britt, I told you this could wait until sunrise or something…"

"But _Saaaaaaaaaaan,_ he could break..." Here the first feather duster grinned even wider, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. "The spell," she murmured, her blue eyes widening dramatically.

"I _told_ you," Finn said exasperatedly, jumping up and down for emphasis.

"Papa? Are you here?" Kurt called again, walking through the hallways and as he did, he walked past a table where a clock and a candlestick jolted awake and turned around. "Papa?"

Rachel gasped. "Noah, do you know what this _means_? This must be the son of that poor man that –"

But Puck had hopped off the table, peeking around the corner at the figure retreating into the distance.

"Dude, is that a girl or a guy?"

Rachel frowned. "Firstly, he's male. Secondly, I am not, so don't call me 'dude'."

Puck sighed. "Whatever, Berry. I think… I think he's… this could be the guy that could break the spell!" He hopped off in hot pursuit.

"Wait – Noah – could you stop making rash decisions for just _one second_ – FINE!" With a loud sigh, she waddled off after him.

They caught up to Kurt just as he walked past the door to the dungeons, and after some quick gesturing and sign language they pushed the door open so it creaked loudly and waited for Kurt to turn around – "Papa?" – before hiding behind the door they'd just opened. Kurt frowned, looking at the open door, but decided to go through it, not knowing that two pairs of very curious eyes – one brown, one hazel – were watching his every step. He looked around, and as he did, Puck hopped quickly up the stairs, lighting the way for Kurt.

Rachel watched as Kurt followed Puck's candlelight up the stairs. "Oh, dear," she said, worrying her lip. "I hope this works…"

As Kurt reached the top of the stairs, he saw what seemed to be a dungeon – rows of bars fitted neatly into wooden doors – and he frowned. "But that light… where did it come from?" he muttered, looking at the torches that were lit. They were nowhere near bright enough to have caught his attention downstairs…

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

This time, his call was rewarded.

"K-Kurt…"

"Papa!"

He rushed to the source of the weakened voice, and saw his father look through the bars of a door. "Papa, what happened?" he asked worriedly, seeing how pale his father was even in the dim torchlight and grasping his hand. "Your hands are like ice…"

"There's no time to explain," his father croaked, coughing. "You need to go, Kurt! It's not safe here…"

"I'm not leaving you behind," Kurt said firmly. "That's not happening – Papa, I came here to save you, and I can't just leave you like this—"

"Kurt!" Burt yelled, his eyes widening, his hand shaking in Kurt's grip. "Behin—"

There was a loud growl, and Kurt let out a yell as he was lifted from where he was crouching on the cold stone floor and pinned to the pillar next to where his father was captured. There was a gust of wind and the torches blew out, leaving only a single stream of moonlight filtering into the dungeon.

"Who are you?" a voice snarled from the darkness. "Why are you here? How did you find this place?"

"Who's there?" Kurt said, trying desperately to calm himself and grasp onto his courage. "W-who are you?" He felt the weight of a large arm pinning him to the wall, and he could feel his chest heaving up and down as he panted harshly.

"I'm the master of this castle," the voice growled, and Kurt could tell that it – him –_it_ was facing him… He could feel the warm breath of something – someone? – as the voice spoke. "And you should be _leaving_."

"I-I'm here for my father," Kurt gasped as the arm began to tighten against his throat. "Please… you're hurting me."

He breathed a short sigh of relief as the arm was removed, and he heard the soft _whoosh_ of cloth as the other speaker moved away.

"Please, let my father out," he said, his voice trembling and threatening to give away how scared he really was. "Can't you see he's sick? He's coughing and pale, and I need to get him back to our village—"

"Then he shouldn't have _trespassed!"_ the voice yelled.

"H-he could _die,_" Kurt finally said, in hopes of the speaker feeling _some_ sort of sympathy or pity. "I'll… I'll do anything."

"There's nothing you _can_ do," the voice replied, still growling a little. There was another _whoosh_ of cloth. "He's my prisoner."

"There must be something, some way I can—"

And then a thought occurred to Kurt… a thought that would change his life forever.

"Wait."

There was another soft _whoosh_, and Kurt somehow _knew_ that the speaker had turned around. He moved forward into the small spot of moonlight and took a deep breath.

"Take me instead."


End file.
